


Model for Me?

by ConsultingHound



Series: AU Prompts [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Mike is a good friend, Photographer John, Photography, Student John, Student Sherlock, Uni!lock, Victor is too but features less in this fic, nothing too serious but just a warning, short mentions of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 23:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11000976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingHound/pseuds/ConsultingHound
Summary: John Watson is a photography student and his lives across the hall from the most gorgeous guy he's ever seen.  He likes Sherlock and Sherlock likes him, so why is it so difficult for them to figure this out?Loosely based on this AU: I’m a photography student and I see you almost everyday and you’re always perfect so I always take pictures but I don’t want to be creepy so do you wanna go for coffee?





	Model for Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, a nice, quick, easy prompt I thought. Somehow we have this 8000 word monster and I still feel like bits are rushed. I hope you enjoy! (Also I put this up as explicit but I'm not sure if it should just be Mature instead so let me know what you think, I will be very grateful and if you think there's any tags I need let us know! Apparently have forgotten how to do this.)

John Watson was running late. 

He didn’t know how this always happened to him but he was blaming the universe because clearly it hated him.  It totally wasn’t the fact he had slept in late and snoozed his way through the four alarms he had set.  Or the fact his room was so messy it was a struggle to find where his jeans were.  Luckily past-John didn’t hate future-John that much as his bag was ready to go so he only had to grab it and his keys on the way out and run out the door. 

Unfortunately, the universe had not finished punishing him for his laziness and he ran smack into someone.  But not just _any_ someone.  Oh no, it had to be the gorgeous guy from across the hall.  Dressed in shorts and a vest top, it looked like he’d just come back from a work-out and he tried desperately not to stare but how the hell was he not meant to when his neighbour looked like _that_.  A slight flush on his cheeks, hair ruffled into a perfect riot, _so much_ skin on show and oh god he was still so late what was he doing!  Definitely not the time to be checking out his neighbour, _again_. 

“I am so, so sorry.  I- I have to go, sorry,” he stammered out and then fled before the other man could say anything. 

He sprinted across campus and launched himself through several doors before throwing himself down in his seat with only a minute to spare.  Mike gave him a Look. 

“What?  Technically I’m on time,” John said, pointing to the clock above the door.  Mike only shook his head but couldn’t respond as the lecturer walked in yelling about how she was going to murder whoever set her lessons up so she had to run from the Graydon building to Barts.  But apparently the administrators thought it was fine to throw the photography class any old place, travel time be damned. 

John had initially enrolled in the medicine course which had been...fine.  Well, some might call it an unmitigated disaster but John liked to think some it went okay.  He’d signed up initially because it was what his parents had pushed him towards.  Doctor John Watson: now there was a proper job, a job to be proud of, a job that helped people.  John had liked the last idea and thought that would be enough to pull him through. 

It hadn’t. 

After two terms his mind has spiralled and he could barely force himself to move from his dorm bed, terrified of going out the door and having to sit through class but equally terrified of telling anyone he was struggling, unable to articulate his thoughts properly.  He locked himself away like that for a week before his former next-door neighbour had come to find him.  If he’d had the energy he would have been mortified at the thought of what the Warden had seen when they finally got his door unlocked. 

It had taken time but gradually he made progress towards stopping the spiralling thoughts.  He’d had to learn to ignore the slight disappointed vibes from his dad which made his heart clench every time he even thought about it but overall by mid-spring he was definitely better than he had been.  That’s when he found photography.  He’d been out for a walk because that’s what people had said might help and the thought of spending another moment in the house had gone from feeling like a sanctuary to feeling like he was being trapped in a huge box.  There were few green spaces in his area of London so it was quite a way to the nearest park but when he finally arrived it felt like a run-down, glass covered oasis.  He wandered until he was near the small pond on the far side.   Just by the water, he watched as a small train of ducks veer their way wildly to the pond, somehow managing to skate around it without actually ever getting into the water.  His lips twitched and stopped.  He actually felt something.  Nothing overpowering, nothing wild but...something.  He was struck with the need to remember this moment.  That’s when he took his first photo.   Nothing wild, just a small snap of the ducks on an overcast day in a city park. 

After that he couldn’t stop himself.  Everything was documented, every small image helping focus him, keep him in this moment rather than letting his thoughts run wild.  He had been up in his room, looking over some of the skyline shots he had taken of the city after not-so-legally gaining access to a roof terrace of a flat block, when his mother knocked on the door. 

“John, can we talk?”

He had frozen up at the idea of talking but she had already walked into his room so there was no avenue for escape.

“Yeah sure.  What’s up?”

When the silence stretched slightly too long, he turned from his computer to look at her.  She was perched on his bed, looking lost for words. 

“Your photography,” was a surprise opening sentence.  He hadn’t realised they had been taking notice.  “It’s good sweetheart.  It’s really good.  And you obviously love it.  So I was thinking.  Maybe, if you felt up to it, you could get a qualification in it?  That might help make it into a career for you yeah?”

John was about to point out that an effective way of making photography his career would be simply to take photos and that a degree didn’t matter as much but as he looked into his mother’s earnest face, he realised that wasn’t quite her point.  She only wanted what was best for him and this could be a way of meeting her half way.  Also there was a small part of him that wanted to go back to a university setting.  He’d enjoyed the bit of social life he’d carved out and the routine of it and he wanted to prove that he could do it dammit. 

So he’d said he would think about it.  Now, two years later, here he was.  Happier.  Slightly more confident.  Totally not paying attention to his lecture because all he had was the image of next-door neighbour in running shorts in his head. 

He was startled from his lovely reprieve by Mike nudging him in the ribs.  “You’ve made it here on time, might as well listen,” he whispered, nodding to the front of the room.  So he dragged himself from his _lovely_ thoughts and focused.  Well, he tried at least. 

At the end, he and Mike wandered over to the cafeteria area, along with the general swarm of other students. 

“Now care to explain why you were late on this fine morning?”

“There were a multitude of factors,” John began before Mike cut in. 

“You slept in again didn’t you?”

“Yeah that’s about right.”

“You need an alarm.”

“I have an alarm!” John protested.

“You need to listen to your alarm!” Mike said, shaking his head. 

“Alright mother, I’ll try and do better,” John said, rolling his eyes, and grabbing a tray. 

“It’s important!  Okay, now I’m finished nagging,” Mike said, holding up his hands at John’s glare before changing the subject.  “So what you thinking about doing for your project?”

“Thought you were done nagging,” John joked. 

“Genuine question. 

“The human form one?  I’m not sure, got a few ideas kicking round-“

“-Which means you have an idea but don’t want to share it yet,” Mike cut in again. 

“Oh shut up.  What about you?”

“I will be winging it, as I have done for every project.”

“Yeah, well you’re into all that experimental shit.”

Mike stopped, which in the lunch queue was a Very Bold move.  “Crossing. A. Line Watson.  Crossing A Line.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t good!  Just not all of us fully understand it.”

“I will let it slide this time because I am an excellent person and you would do well to remember it because the next time I will stab you with a fork.  Now talk about your project,” Mike said, sitting down at a recently vacated table. 

“I don’t know.  I’m thinking of taking an image of someone, monochrome it all, and then pick out the distinct colours in it? Prove it’s not black and white at all?  I don’t know, it might to be too cliché.”  To avoid saying anything else he shovelled more pasta into his mouth. 

“No, it sounds amazing mate,” Mike encouraged and John felt very grateful he had sat down next to Mike on his first day.  “You have a model in mind?”  John may or may not have blushed, suddenly not so grateful.  “Oooh, now _that_ is interesting.  Who?”

“It doesn’t mean anything!  But yeah, I’ve been considering someone for it,” he said, twirling his fork around his pasta with extreme focus.  Mike simply raised an eyebrow.  “It’s the guy across the hall from me okay?  You happy?”

“Oh you mean Sherlock.”

John dropped his fork and stared.  Mike didn’t notice.  John kicked him under the table.

“Ow! What?”

“Michael Stamford, if you weren’t going to be incredibly useful in a few minutes time, it would be my turn to stab you with _this_ fork right here right now.” 

***

It was only when they were outside Sherlock’s room that John started to doubt his amazing plan was actually amazing and started thinking it may have been the worst decision he had ever made.  But before he could retreat into his own room and forget the entire thing, Mike was knocking on the door and staring at John with a peaceful look that said ‘You asked for this.  This was entirely your idea.  You idiot.’  John hated that look.  He was also very familiar with that look. 

The door swung open.  Sherlock was dressed down in a plain white t-shirt and black skinny jeans which John thought would look lovely strewn across his bedroom floor.  He then quickly dismissed that thought because he felt it inappropriate to ask his neighbour for a favour while picturing him in a compromising situation. 

“Mike,” Sherlock said with a nod, his voice deeper than John expected.  “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.  Just realised I knew both of you and never actually introduced you.  This is John, John this is Sherlock.  Hey John did you have something you needed to ask Sherlock about?”

Sherlock turned to look at him and John suddenly forgot all the words in the English language.  “Hey Sherlock, I’m sorry I ran into you this morning,” John said with a small wave.  He didn’t know why he waved.  No one did.  Everyone ignored it.

“It’s fine, really.  I hope you made it to your photography class on time,” Sherlock said. 

“How did you know I did photography?” John said, looking at Mike who continued to smile but shook his head in denial.  Sherlock ducked his head. 

“Simple really.  Your lanyard is in purple which is the Arts department colour, your hands have calluses on them from work but you’re not dressed for manual labour, this university has a limited alternative course selection, and most tellingly, you have your camera bag, which somewhat gives the game away.” 

“That was...amazing.”  Sherlock’s head shot back up and Mike’s smile somehow widened. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.  That was awesome.”

“Well looks like my work here is done.  John don’t forget your project and also you owe me.  A lot.”  Mike then walked away because he was heartless and John was left alone with his gorgeous, intelligent neighbour. 

“Project?”  Sherlock’s voice pulled John back from where he was glaring at Mike’s back. 

He scratched the back of his head.  This was not exactly how he wanted to introduce the idea but seeing as he didn’t have any other option he just had to hope Sherlock wouldn’t laugh in his face. 

“Yes.  Project.  We have a photography project due in a few weeks and I think you would be an excellent study but I didn’t want to just spring this on you so like, I don’t know.  You want to grab coffee?  Decide if it’s something you might be interested in?” 

Sherlock was quiet and looked serious and John was just about to tell him to forget all about it and run for his own door when Sherlock replied. 

“Okay.  I’ll grab my jacket.”  It was only when Sherlock had disappeared that John registered what he has said. 

He was going for coffee with his gorgeous neighbour and was going to explain his project to him.  This was fine.  He could do this.  So long as he remembered how to breathe. 

***

“You jumped the fence?” John said.  He knew his jaw was hanging open but he couldn’t help it. 

“It wasn’t a _big_ fence.  And we caught the suspect so they forgave the trespassing.” Sherlock shrugged with a small smile on his face.  He then turned his face away which John has noticed him doing a lot whenever he smiled, as if he was uncertain what to do with it. 

John shook his head in disbelief.  They had been in the coffee shop on campus for about an hour now and John could feasibly see them sitting there for the rest of time with Sherlock regaling him with stories of all the crazy stuff he’d done.  Things had started off a little stilted; there wasn’t an easy way to start a conversation after you asked someone you didn’t know for a favour and then refused to explain yourself immediately.  But when John had asked what Sherlock wanted to do with his life and Sherlock had answered with “I want to be a detective.  Or a pirate,” the conversation had started flowing.  Apparently Sherlock helped out on police cases, whether they wished him to or not.  There were no current updates on the piracy but he was hopeful new avenues would open soon.

“You may be the maddest person I have ever met.”

“I take it as a compliment,” Sherlock bowed his head in acknowledgement. 

“You should,” John nodded back.  He may or may not have been beaming and so tried to tone it down slightly.

“So, photography,” Sherlock prompted.

Yep, that would do it.

“Yeah,” he said cautiously.  Sherlock tilted his head slightly, as if assessing for something. 

“What is the project?  You seem reluctant to talk about it so I’m assuming it is personal which then makes me question why you would need _my_ help?”  Sherlock then took a sip of coffee as if he hadn’t just boxed John into a corner.

He floundered for a minute.  “I guess you could say it’s kind of personal?  The topic is the human form.”  Sherlock raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything.  “No, stay with me.  It’s nothing weird I promise.  I’d just need one photo and we’d set it up to be this perfect monochrome photo, really classic, and then I’ll do some editing to highlight the different colour tones in the photo?  Of course I need a good model and I thought of you.”  If John could have kicked himself under the table he would have because he really needed to shut up before he outright told Sherlock he was gorgeous. 

“And you think _I_ should be the model?”  He didn’t sound annoyed so John glanced up.  Sherlock was looking at him curiously, his brow furrowed. 

“Well, I mean, _look_ at you.”  He saw it right?  He had to see it.  John looked at Sherlock’s confused expression, the cutest little head tilt and furrow of his brows. 

He didn’t see it. 

_He didn’t see it._

“Sherlock.  Come on.  Surely you’ve noticed everyone in this place checking you out?”  He then added silently ‘But hopefully are still unaware of the person sitting across from you checking you out’. 

Sherlock glanced around and four people suddenly had a violent interest in their coffee, friend, shoes, and ceiling respectively.  “Are you sure they aren’t looking at you?” Sherlock said.  John tried to stop himself from laughing. 

“Yeah no.  It’s definitely you.” 

Sherlock was still frowning as if he was going to argue but something must have made him change his mind as he nodded.

“I’m in.”

***

John didn’t realise he had made a mistake.  It was the day of his photo shoot with Sherlock and he was pleased that his excitement was out-weighing the nerves.  After their coffee stop (John had to stop himself from calling it a Date because that was _so not professional Watson, sort it out_ ), they had set up a date for a week’s time.  Since then they’d managed to bump into each other more in one week than they had in 7 months living across the hall from each other.  Hallways, coffee shops, the campus library, shopping in Tesco: if two people could be in the same shared common space at the same time, they would both be there.  Once John’s crush had been shoved into a box in the back of his mind, he couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to Sherlock.  Sure, conversations about blood splatter patterns and a disappearing, gold-stealing cockatoo were not what most people would call ‘polite conversation’ but it was interesting and refreshing to not have an awkward ‘getting-to-know-you’ phase. 

So John wasn’t nervous.  Yet.  He’d arrived early to set up the big white backdrop screens and to mess around with the lighting.  For this initial image John wanted everything in stark contrast, emphasising Sherlock’s pale skin and black riotous hair.  Sherlock had suggested that he could wear formalwear and John had agreed.  They would leave off the jacket for more of a solid contrast and both had agreed to no tie.  John had said it would leave a suggestion things were not as put-together as they first appeared, leading into the rest of the set.  Sherlock had said he would rather strangle John with one before wearing it. 

Things were looking good and he was fiddling with his camera, taking some test shots to see if the lighting was correct when Sherlock showed up. 

A small knock on the door was John’s only warning before the door opened.  He turned with a smile, a joke about how it was nice to see him again after so long, what was it 6 hours now, on his lips before he froze. 

He realised his mistake. 

Sherlock looked _stunning_.  John didn’t know if he wanted to stare at him forever or rip the suit off him right then and there. 

“Morning John.  I was- Is everything alright?”  Sherlock paused in the doorway, looking concerned. 

Right.  Photo-shoot.  Sherlock just a friend.  He could do this. 

“Err, yeah, fine.  Just haven’t seen you so dressed up before,” he said, flashing a grin before turning back to the camera, pretending to fix something. 

“Well it’s an important moment, I thought it merited some formality” Sherlock joked, waving at the surroundings. 

“I’ll have to get changed then,” John said, tugging his jumper down self-consciously. 

“I think you’ll do fine,” Sherlock said, looking over quickly.  What neither of them noticed in their rush to look away was that both of them were blushing. 

John coughed, screwing up his courage to look at Sherlock again.  He had a project to be getting on with.  “Right.  You ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” Sherlock replied.  He was stood at the edge of the white canvas, like he was afraid to step on it. 

“Go on.  Technically it’s for you.” 

“You make it sound like I’m scared,” Sherlock said huffily. 

“Maybe it’s because you look like the backdrops going to bite you.  I promise it’s not a trap.”

Sherlock sighed dramatically, as if John was being tedious, and stepped onto the set.  It was then that John felt like his project just might work, and the realisation pushed him out of his awkward nervousness and into full photographer mode.  He knew how to do this.  Hell, he was _good_ at this.  Plus there was the bonus of getting to boss Sherlock around while he tested and trailed various poses.  He disregarded the idea of Sherlock sitting on the floor almost immediately, causing a put-upon sigh from his model as he heaved himself back up to standing.  As he moved both Sherlock and the camera, he felt the unfocused concepts pull together and crystallise so he could see the rest of his project forming. 

“Shit,” John said, causing Sherlock to start.  They had been quiet for a while, John flicking over a few of the photos to see what his options were.

“Something wrong?” Sherlock said, voice carefully neutral. 

Self-conscious, John’s mind supplied.  Stupid.  “Oh, no, these are fantastic,” John reassured.  “It’s just were nearly out of time and I have to put all this back.”  Although he would deny it if John were to ask, he could see Sherlock’s shoulders relax slightly.

“I can help with that,” he offered. 

“I thought you had class?” John said, moving past him to start moving the lights back to their corner. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I skipped, plus it’s for a good cause,” Sherlock said, following John’s lead. 

John shook his head.  “Sherlock Holmes.  Go to your class.  I’ll be fine, won’t take me ten minutes.” 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.  Now go, otherwise you and your suit will be making a dramatic late entrance.”

“How do you know that wasn’t my plan all along?” Sherlock said, now lolling against the wall, not making a move to leave but not trying to help again either. 

“You are such a Drama Queen.  But fine, come help me with this.”  With the two of them working together it took less time than John had anticipated which felt like both a relief and a disappointment. 

John locked up the room and turned to Sherlock.  There was a small pause and then both began speaking at once. 

“Sorry, you first,” Sherlock said. 

“No, I was just going to say thanks for doing this.  Hope it wasn’t too horrific,” he laughed uneasily. 

“I had a good time John,” Sherlock said, seeing through him in an instant.  “And I was going to say if you ever needed another model, I wouldn’t mind helping out,” he said, blushing slightly. 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Though sooner than both boys were expecting.

***

“John?”

“Sherlock! Thank god you picked up.  Are you busy?”

Sherlock looked round at the chaos of his room that he’d promised his mother he’d tidy and the cold case Lestrade had palmed off on him as ‘important’.  He tried not the think that even if he had a proper case he would probably drop it just to spend time with John.  

“No.  What do you need?” 

“I have a project, I need to get done and I was going to do it last week but I was stressed out and busy and I know this is really short notice but would you be free to please help me out this afternoon?”  John’s normally calm even tone had descended into a garbled chaos as he panicked.  After their initial shoot they’d hung out a few times, usually with Sherlock telling John about the more daring cases he’d been on, and John retelling stories of mischief from his childhood.  It was strange at first, having someone who actually listened and cared, but now Sherlock couldn’t imagine life without him, even branching out into talking about other aspects of his life which he was sure were dull as hell but which John seemed to enjoy.  This was a terrifying realisation but one he’d been good at suppressing so far.

“John calm down.  Breathe.  Of course I’ll help.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much Sherlock, seriously, I owe you.”

“Don’t be silly.  It’s no bother.  What do you need?” 

“Just your face,” John said, and Sherlock blushed without meaning to, an annoying habit that had started as soon as he and John began their friendship.  “Wait, that sounded weird.  Look, I’ll explain later.  I’ve got to go but can I come round at like 3?”

“Sure that’s fine.  I’ll see you then.”  John said goodbye and hung up.  It was then that Sherlock caught up with what he’d agreed to.  John was coming round here.  To his room.  A room which currently looked like a landfill site had hit a tornado.  He looked at his phone.  2:15.  Ah. 

***

At 3:10, the door to the university hall’s corridor slammed open with a huge bang, and a harried John Watson came barrelling out of the stairwell, a satchel and camera bag flung over one shoulder, staring at an image on his digital camera. 

“John,” Sherlock said trying not to startle him into dropping his beloved camera.  He did not want to be on the receiving end of the fallout from _that_ situation. 

“Sherlock! Thank you so much for this, you really...” John trailed off as he realised where Sherlock was stood, leaning on his room’s door.  “You alright? Didn’t set anything on fire?”  At the lack of immediate response John admonished with a “Sherlock!”

“No no! Everything’s fine.  Just thought you might need a blank background.  What with you only needing “my face” I believe was the exact job description?” Sherlock teased.

“Ha. Ha.  A comedic genius as well as,“ _don’t say a cute face, don’t say a cute face_ , “a brilliant brain.  Actually the blank background is a good idea, so bring your face over here where the light’s better.”  John nodded over to where the door to the tiny kitchen was propped open and the natural light shone through. 

“Do I dare ask what this pressing project is?  Seems a weird time for assessments,” Sherlock asked, standing in the corridor as John scrambled onto a questionable counter to adjust the blinds.

“Ugh,” John said, scrunching up his face, “it’s not for uni exactly.  I promised Becca at _Inspire_ I would do something for the next issue and I meant to do it last week but, you know, stuff happens, and now we’re here.  It’s an issue about identity so I’m taking pictures of anyone who’s willing and I’ll put it together somehow,” John said shaking his head.  He stumbled a little as he hopped down from the counter and Sherlock instinctually put out a steadying hand.  He hadn’t noticed it in the corridor, but looking directly at John’s face he could see bags under his eyes deeper than they had before and a tension in his shoulders which refused to relent.  John flinched away from Sherlock’s touch on his arm and played it off as just reaching for his camera, with a muttered thanks. 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.  John, are you alright?” Sherlock said, trying to sound casual. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Just uni, you know?” John said, flashing a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  Sherlock did not know but realised the evasion for what it was.  Maybe they weren’t quite that close yet.  Maybe he really was just tired.  

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, for once actually meaning it. 

“No, it’s fine.  Nice to know you care,” John said with a half-laugh.  “It’s just...difficult to explain.”  He brought his hand up to scratch the back of his neck and Sherlock tried not to smile at the “John-like” gesture.  He was unsure when he started to categorise things as “John-like” but now was probably not the time to start questioning it.  John started to explain in starts and stops, hands fiddling with his camera.  “You know how I said I wanted to be a doctor when I was little?” Sherlock nodded.  “Well I actually tried.  Applied, got in to a med course, things all looked to be going to plan.  And then...things just didn’t work out and I felt... bad.  Really bad.  Have to drop out to survive kind of bad.  I’m doing better now but sometimes life...well you know, life is just a lot isn’t it?”

What neither of them expected was John being engulfed in a hug.  Startled at his own actions, Sherlock made to draw back but then John drew him close.  “Sorry,” Sherlock said, “This is what people do though isn’t it?  To comfort people?”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” and Sherlock had to try so hard not to shiver at John’s soft voice in his ear, “It’s alright.  I’m fine seriously.”  John paused for a second.  “Who knew you were a total softie,” he added, laughing as he untangled himself and playfully pushed at Sherlock’s shoulder. 

Neither boy could meet the other’s eye, each trying to control their blushing so the other didn’t see. 

“Right.  Now I think that’s enough emotions for one day,” John said and Sherlock relaxed.  So he hadn’t ruined everything then.  “Now where do we want your face to be?”

Sherlock had many answers to that question and yet none felt appropriate to say at that moment in time.

***

Things had changed after the hug.  Not hugely, not loudly, but the subtle brushing of shoulders and bumping of elbows had increased dramatically and it. Was. Driving. John. _Mad._

He _thought_ he had thought a lot about Sherlock before he even knew he was called Sherlock, but this was getting ridiculous.  Every lecture was spent trying to concentrate, accidently letting his mind wander to curly hair and silver eyes, and soft lips and surprisingly strong hands, trying to stop thinking about those things, ending up thinking about them more, and then the lecture was over and he had to ask Mike for notes. 

The fourth time this happened, Mike just gazed at him over his glasses. 

“Stop that.  You know it freaks me out.  You’re not my real mum.  Just shut up!”

“I said nothing,” Mike said politely

“You were thinking very loudly though.”

“I can’t help if you’re a telepath John.”

“Oh, just shut up.  Anyway, I’ve got to go,” John grumbled, looking at his phone.  No message from Sherlock.  That was fine.  He didn’t expect one anyway.  It was all fine.  Great even.  Just great. 

“Wait you have plans?” Mike asked, looking sceptical. 

“I can have friends.  I have friends!” John didn’t mean to shout but the looks the girls down the corridor gave him proved he might want to tone it down a bit.  

“Never said you couldn’t.  And who does this magical meet up include?”

John mumbled something, looking away.

“I’m sorry.”

He repeated but it still sounded like a ball of consonants and vowels rather than anything that could be described as a word. 

“Just one more time.”

“It’s Sherlock alright?!”  So much for toning it down. 

Mike looked over his glasses again. 

“Oh whatever,” John sighed, making Mike laugh.  He’d never hear the end of this one. 

He bid Mike goodbye at the fork in the path, one way going to the halls, the other headed towards the Student Union building.  Well _he_ said goodbye.  Mike started shouting out helpful advice such as “Have fun on your not-a-date” and “I think he likes bees, you should work with that” and the ever-wise “Use protection”.  It was not the first time John questioned his choice in friends.

The advice added an extra edge to an already stressful day because today was the day John had decided to bite the bullet and ask Sherlock out.  Casually.  In a totally non pressured environment.  In fact, maybe he would just feel out if Sherlock was interested in dating.  At all.  With anyone.  Specifically blondes who happened to like photography and lived across the hall from him.  Just you know, hypothetically speaking. 

As he made his way through the buildings and up the stairs, the walk seemed to stretch on far longer than usual.  Had they accidentally moved the hall buildings further away when he wasn’t looking?  Were they now in Scotland?  Was Sherlock interested in Scottish people?  Should he attempt the accent?  No, that was ridiculous.  Or was it?  No it was.  Definitely was.  God he was freaking out.  He took out his keys and started messing with them, something to keep his hands from twitching.

After what felt like hours he was on their corridor.  There was Sherlock’s door.  He kept on telling himself that everything was under control.  He could do this.

He steeled himself and tried to stroll down the corridor.  ‘Tried’ as his current nerves meant he felt like he had no control over his limbs. 

Sherlock’s door opened. 

John’s heart felt like it was going to hammer right out of his chest. 

The person existing Sherlock’s room was not Sherlock. 

John felt like his heart had stopped dead, somewhere in his throat if his difficulty breathing was a judge. 

The person was Sherlock’s height, with icy blonde hair lazily styled so bits fell in front of his eyes.  His tee and skinny jeans were hugging a dancer’s frame, that much was obvious, elegant, graceful.  Everything John thought of when he thought of Sherlock.  He was smirking back at Sherlock who was lounging against the door frame.  Sherlock who was smiling.  Sherlock rarely smiled. 

John felt slightly sick. 

Of course this was the moment he dropped his keys.  

The resulting clatter brought the attention of the two boys at the end of the corridor.  He scrambled for them and pretended that he hadn’t been stood staring. 

“John,” Sherlock said, standing up straighter.

“Er, hey Sherlock.  Sherlock’s friend.”  He nodded at both of them, stumbling a little over the word friend. 

“Hi, I’m Victor.  Nice to meet you,” Victor said, sticking out a hand.  John shook it because he was polite dammit but couldn’t help comparing Victor’s soft palms with his own scarred ones from hours fiddling with camera equipment.  He was floundering for something to say. 

“John’s my neighbour from across the hall,” Sherlock jumped in.  Victor’s eyes lit up at that and turned to John with more interest. 

“Ah, you’re the man that keeps snapping photos of this one.  Lord knows how you can work with him,” Victor said, dramatically sighing.  Sherlock rolled his eyes, equally as dramatic. 

“He’s quite a good model actually,” John argued.  Victor simply tilted his head with a small smile on his face.  John completely missed Sherlock blush behind him. 

“Well he does love his own appearance.  A bit like a parrot come to think of it,” Victor swivelled to look at Sherlock thoughtfully.

“Victor don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Sherlock huffed. 

“Fine spoilsport.  John, lovely meeting you.  _You_ ,” he said pointing a finger at Sherlock, “Better call me later.  We have much to discuss.”  Victor winked at Sherlock as he left.  Well there was the answer about dating blondes at least.  Less good on the across the hall front. 

“Sorry about that.  He can be a bit, well, _himself_ sometimes,” Sherlock said, turning towards him with a smile.  It was such a lovely smile.  John felt his own lips twitch in response.  Then he remembered he was probably smiling because of Victor.  The sick feeling came back. 

“Hey.  Yeah, no worries.  Sorry.  I was just going to say something’s come up, so I’ve got to cancel on our plans.  Sorry it’s late notice but-” he gestured towards his door and backed away towards it. 

“Oh,” Sherlock said, frowning.  He was probably upset that he had said goodbye to his- his _boyfriend_ when they could have spent more time together.  “Well that’s fine.  Of course.  Some other time?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” John said, fiddling unnecessarily with the door lock and practically falling into his room.  “See you,” he said as the door swung shut behind him. 

He blew out a harsh breath as his back hit the wall and he slid down it.

Fuck. 

Fuck everything. 

He didn’t know he felt like crying until the tears were already falling down his cheeks.  Which was stupid.  It was just a boy after all. 

But it was fine. 

It was all fucking fine.

***

It felt like John was avoiding him.

It might not be.  People had coursework and John probably had other friends he needed to see and maybe he’d gone back home for a bit and there was a myriad of other things John could be doing besides seeing Sherlock that had nothing to do with John not _wanting_ to see Sherlock. 

It still felt like John was avoiding him. 

It had been nearly a week since they’d last talked, the longest they’d gone without speaking since they’d met.  Despite the fact they had only known each other a few weeks, the lack of his phone buzzing with a text alert was unnerving.  He still kept checking it, just in case he hadn’t felt it ring, to the point that Victor had started teasing him for it.  This was despite the fact that he was hyper aware of where his phone was at all times.

The major thing bothering Sherlock was the fact they didn’t bump into each other like they use to.  For a few weeks it had felt like he couldn’t move around the university, around London even, without accidently coming across one John Watson.  Now however there hadn’t been a sighting for days, not even on the corridor they both lived on.  This was what made Sherlock think he was being avoided the most.  Not texting might have been a mistake.  This was active evasion.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong.  Normally he could pinpoint it to a particular comment or social interaction but this time he was mystified.  Sherlock Holmes did not like not knowing.  However, before he went banging down John’s door, Victor had cautioned him. 

“Hey, give the guy some space if he wants space.  I’m sure everything’s fine and confronting him over nothing will actually give him something to avoid you for.”

So Sherlock had been trying something new.  Patience.  It was awful but he would do it for John.  Sherlock was also working out that the phrase “Absence only makes the heart grow fonder” was very much A Thing for him.  That too was also hateful but only because he couldn’t seek out the Absence and tell him he’d really like to kiss him senseless.  Victor had also cautioned against using that as his first line.  Jury was still out on whether Sherlock would actually take that advice. 

Of course it was the magazine that did it. 

He had walked past the magazine stand twice before relenting and picking up a copy of _Inspire_ , something he had never done before and was reluctant to ever do again.  He flicked through to the photo spread and stopped dead.  **Student Bodies** , the heading declared boldly and underneath were photos of a range of students all collaged together, like a more realistic version of a university brochure.  He recognised a few of them, but that wasn’t what made him stop.  His face was front and centre, his photo one of the larger ones in the piece.  He’d expected John to use one of the more serious takes, but instead, his lips were curled up in a rare, genuine smile, eyes crinkled at the sides with laugh lines.  Was he really _so_ obvious?  There was no mistaking his expression.  He was in love with whoever was behind that camera and it was then that Sherlock decided he’d had enough of patience.  Was this why John was avoiding him?

It was clearly time to find John and fix this. 

Luckily he knew exactly where to find him. 

***

He didn’t hear the banging at first.  He had his headphones on, blasting music, trying to focus on the stupid report he had to write up which he had left to what felt like the last second because he was an _idiot_ , and he was trying not to think about _him_ because he did not have the energy to deal with that right now and all this was to say: John did not hear the banging on his door.

Well, until the person behind the door sounded like they were going to break in.  In hindsight, John thought, he should have checked who was behind the door before opening it.

“Sherlock,” he said, shocked still at the sight of the man he had been dodging all week.

Luckily he did not have to think of anything more to say as Sherlock jumped in. “You really shouldn’t listen to music that loud John.  What if there’d been a genuine emergency?”

And just like that, John found himself irrationally angry.  Because yeah, he might not be what Sherlock wanted, he may not be a stupidly well-toned ballet-dancing supermodel type or _whatever_ , but all that meant he could damn well listen to music as loud as he liked thank you very much and Sherlock had no right to tell him otherwise.

“What do you want Sherlock?  I’m busy,” he said, gesturing to the laptop and grateful that for once he had left open the word document and not Facebook.  For some reason this made Sherlock look uneasy.

“Um, yes well, I-“

John was slightly stunned.  Sherlock rarely stumbled over his words, as if he’d already planned out a conversation in his head and was simply going through the motions to confirm your answers. 

“Are you okay?” he asked and Sherlock turned a shade of pink and looked at the floor.

“Not really.  You’ve been avoiding me,” he accused, innocently looking up through his lashes.  It was John’s turn to look at the floor.  It was a shade of rough-faded beige which he hadn’t noticed before and he had to say, looked particularly awful. 

“Yeah, well, like I said, I’ve been busy.”

“For an entire week?”

“Yes.  I do have a life outside of you, you know.”  This was not an entire lie but perhaps an exaggeration.  He had seen Mike at some point (probably) and had gone to a house party only to leave early because he found it boring. 

“Unlikely.  I can see-“

But before Sherlock could get any further, John interrupted.  “Thought you’d be spending time with your boyfriend anyway.”  He regretted saying that immediately as the ache he had been ignoring for a week suddenly hit him with full force. 

“My, my what?” Sherlock looked vaguely scandalised.  Shit had they been keeping it a secret?  Well, too late to back down now.

“Your boyfriend, Victor or whatever his name was.” 

He knew his name was Victor.  Victor Trevor.  Victor Trevor from Kent, Chemistry student, had a cat named Mittens at home, did ballet on the weekends, liked apple crumble and rugby union.  There had been a weak moment on Tuesday afternoon but he would have to somehow mention Victor needed better security settings on his social media. 

“Victor?” Sherlock had gone to fully scandalised. 

“Yeah,” John said slowly.  Something didn’t feel right.

“You think _Victor_ is my _boyfriend_?”

John nodded.

“Well he’s never going to let me here the end of this,” Sherlock muttered and sighed.  “Victor is not my boyfriend,” he said and continued as if still talking to himself, “Absolutely not.  No thank you, I know far too much about him to see him in that light and I have my sights set firmly on someone else.” 

John had stupidly let a bubble of hope rise up at finding out Mr Perfect was not the boyfriend, only to be crushed a little again by the revelation Sherlock liked someone else.  What he missed in his pity party was the fact Sherlock was _looking directly at him_ , which you would think would be a big clue as to this person’s mystery identity. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes,” and there it was again, that nervousness from when he’d opened the door. “That’s why I’m here.”

“To tell me that you like someone?” John looked confused.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow because seriously, how much more would it take for this boy to work it out?  He was trying his best here.  Sherlock stepped closer, so they were _nearly_ toe-to-toe. 

“Yes.”  John looked up and they locked eyes, ocean blue to liquid silver. 

“ _Oh_ ,” John said, finally, _finally_ realising.  Then, out of shock he added, “Really?”

Sherlock took this as his cue to step forward that little bit more, to bring his hands up to cup John’s face so his fingertips could brush at that soft hair at the back of his neck and to kiss him.  Finally kiss him. 

Sherlock’s lips were soft, if a little dry, and it was perfect, just perfect and sweet and John could have stayed like that forever.  The tension he had been feeling melted away under his touch and it was suddenly not enough and he needed to be closer, needed to feel more.  But then Sherlock pulled back, only a little, and rumbled, actually _rumbled,_ “Yes really.  For a quite a while actually.  Now are you going to invite me in?”

It was then that John realised they were stood in the doorway and Sherlock _totally_ knew what his voice did to him and he really did not want to have this moment publically on show. 

He walked backwards, dragging Sherlock in by his coat and using it as leverage to press their lips back together into an open mouth kiss that turned filthy both way too quickly and not soon enough.  The door swung shut with a resounding slam as John backed up until his legs hit the bed.  His hands pretended to help Sherlock get rid of his coat when in fact they mostly got in the way before one lodged itself in Sherlock’s hair and the other ran up the front of his shirt. 

It was then that his laptop beeped.  Both looked over, startled and as if they had been caught.  It was then that John remembered he was supposed to be writing his report.  In fairness there was something else distinctly on his mind. 

“Shit.  My report,” John said, struggling to regulate his breathing. 

Sherlock did not find this dilemma as pressing as John did and began biting kisses down the side of his neck.  “Do it later,” he said in a pause, punctuating it with kisses on John’s pulse point.  His knees wobbled and he stretched his neck to let Sherlock have further access because _god_ that felt good. 

“I’m supposed to be doing work.”  If you asked him, John would have no idea as to why his brain was still making him talk.  He would have very much liked for his brain to stop ruining this for him and to go offline for a bit.

“You could be _doing_ something else,” Sherlock said pointedly.

Yep.  That would do it.  John let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan, a noise that said _yes_ and _please_ and _now_.  He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling Sherlock down to straddle his lap and kissed him again, tongues intertwining.  He titled his hips slightly and both of them shuddered when their erections touched, Sherlock softly swearing.  Sherlock began unbuttoning his shirt, fingers slipping over the buttons in his haste and John just kept him there, both hands in his hair and hips moving slowly, so so slowly, teasing. 

“John,” Sherlock whined involuntarily as he threw the shirt onto the floor and John felt his breath stop for a beat at the sweetness of the sound.  He then pushed Sherlock off him slightly, much to Sherlock’s displeasure and pulled his t-shirt off before crawling back to rest on his pillows.  Sherlock followed him as if they were magnetised together and stretched out over him, realigning their hips, which John took as an opportunity to alternately kiss his lips and his neck and basically any bit of skin he could find. 

“We need to get the rest of these clothes off,” he panted, as Sherlock started rocking forward and back and if they didn’t undress immediately this was going to end _very_ messily far too quickly. 

“Well you’re the one that insisted on lying down,” Sherlock grumbled, not slowing down his light, steady pace, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Lock,” John whimpered and the strain in his voice must have betrayed how close he was because Sherlock stopped.  From the way his eyes slammed shut it looked like he wasn’t far behind either.  John whimpered when Sherlock lifted up onto his knees which quickly changed to a gasp as he trailed feather light kisses down his face, his neck, his chest, until he was right at the top of his jeans.  He groaned slightly as Sherlock sat up and there was only minimal contact because he was aroused and could be contrary if he wanted to be.  He propped himself up on his elbows to half-glare at him but he was too far gone for it to be really effective.  Sherlock looked up at him and he must have looked like a wreck because that’s how he felt but Sherlock seemed mesmerised for a second.  John broke the moment by nodding and lifting up his hips, and closed his eyes at the feeling of Sherlock taking his jeans off and throwing them to the floor to join their shirts.  His opened his eyes as the room stilled for a second and looked up at Sherlock quizzically.  Sherlock looked very pleased with himself which really should have given John a clue.  He then leant down and, without breaking eye contact, grabbed the boxer waist-band by his teeth and pulled them off of John.  And then, the bastard winked. 

John was fairly sure his heart stopped beating and he tensed with the effort of not coming on the spot as his cock throbbed at the sight.  He was fairly certain that if Sherlock didn’t get down here this second he was going to kill the smug idiot. 

“You are going to be the death of me,” he said, his head dropping dramatically back onto the pillows and Sherlock laughed.  There was a rustling and then Sherlock’s breath was in his ear and his weight was back on him his barely contained arousal began to spiral again.  John moved his hips lazily in time with Sherlock’s thrusts and their combined precome meant the friction only verged on painful.  He was babbling a mixture of “yes” and “like that” and “so beautiful” as Sherlock’s breathing became more and more erratic, their thrusts quickening.  John twined his hands around the bedpost for more leverage and Sherlock hissed slightly as the new angle dragged in a different way. 

“Top drawer,” John managed to focus enough to string together two words.  However this also meant that the movements stopped and John groaned at the loss of contact.  He was so close, he just needed-

There was the sign of a cap opening (when did he close his eyes again?) and then Sherlock was back, his large hand circling the both of them and yes, that was it, the added pressure he needed.  Sherlock stroked in time to their joint thrusts and he was on the edge and then Sherlock added a twist to his strokes and it felt so good.

Four, five, six strokes and he was coming whimpering Sherlock’s name. 

He could faintly hear Sherlock panting, still chasing his own release and then still and felt his come combine with his own on his stomach and chest.  Sherlock slumped down next to him and they both stayed there, Sherlock curled up round John as they both calmed down.  

It took a moment for John to realise Sherlock was giggling slightly.  He shifted his arms to look down at him, tilting his head.  Sherlock looked up at him, still laughing.  “I only meant to tell you I liked you.  This was something of a surprise.”

John huffed a laugh.  “Just a little bit.”  A pause.  “I like you too.” 

“Oh good,” Sherlock said nodding as they both started laughing.  John ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair as they settled and lay for a few moments more.

“You said you were busy,” Sherlock said yawning. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” John moaned, arm flopping dramatically over his eyes. 

“Hey, you nearly didn’t let me speak because of it.  Go finish it.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“I will be here giving moral support.”

“How kind of you.”

And so that was how John Watson ended up propped up in bed, stark naked, writing his report on his latest piece, while Sherlock Holmes, also stark naked, was loosely curled around him, alternating between dozing and criticising his grammar. 

It was the best damn report John had written for a long time.  His new boyfriend wasn’t too bad either. 


End file.
